His Only Sonshine
by It'sThreeAM
Summary: Lame title, I know. My response to HoLlIwOoDbOuNd13's 100 themes challenge.
1. Blue

**A/N: So yeah. I'm doing this 100 Words thing, challenged by HoLlIwOoDbOuNd13. Just like everyone else. Except I use proper grammar, for the most part. And I actually have had professional instruction in fiction writing. So. Yeah. Wow, this author's note totally hasn't started sounding cocky. Not one bit. Well, if I haven't lost you already, enjoy!**

**(Oh, and I don't own Bob Marley's song, "Three Little Birds".)**

**

* * *

**

Blue.

_My_ Sonshine was blue, and I could _not_ allow this.

I mean, uh . . . Chad Dylan Cooper does not let people around him be upset because it ruptures the concentration that lets him be such a great actor. The best one of his generation. Yeah. That's it.

Sonny was curled up on the chair in the dressing room she shared with Blondie—I mean Tanya. Or Tiara. Or something. Whatever. Chad Dylan Cooper does not bother himself with the names of Randoms.

Anyways, Sonny was resting against the back cushion, hugging her knees to her chest. She looked like she was in the fetal position. Even though she was facing the door, she hadn't looked up when I'd popped my head in.

_Maybe if I just pretend nothing's wrong, she'll snap out of it,_ I thought. It seemed like a reasonable plan.

"Hey Munroe," I said loudly, walking into the room. "I heard the other Randoms talking about a sketch in the commissary, and I thought I'd just come here to gloat about how much funnier I am than all of you, and I'm on a _real_ show."

"Chad, I really don't want to talk right now," Sonny whispered, voice cracking in the middle of her sentence. She sniffed and brought her hand to wipe something from her eye.

Whoa. Obviously this was way too serious for my arrogance and a little one of our fights to fix. She was more upset than she'd been when that farting mutt croaked. Well, everyone _thought_ it did, but it didn't. Which I should totally recommend to my scriptwriters for a Mac Falls plot . . .

Anyways. Now I had to be sympathetic, because . . . well, because she's Sonny. And I hate to see her like that. Did it mean risking exposure of my true feelings for her? Yeah, sure. But I'd do anything for my Sonshine.

I look a deep breath and sighed. I looked back at the door to make sure no one was around. To be sure, I closed it. Then I paced over to where Sonny was and sat down on the chair—it wasn't too hard, seeing as though she was taking up two feet of space, being curled up and all.

"Sonny . . . is something wrong?" I asked softly.

She bit her lip. She shook her head, letting out a little whimper.

"So nothing's wrong?"

She shook her head again.

"So you're in the fetal position on a chair, ready to cry, and nothing's wrong?" I clarified.

Her dark brown eyes swung my way, and I felt my heart breaking. It was like someone had plunged a knife into my stomach. Chad Dylan Cooper doesn't repeat himself, but he will when necessary: he hates to see his Sonshine like this.

Then, through tears that threatened to fall and a voice that threatened to break, she said, "One of my friends back in Wisconsin called today."

I nodded, urging her on.

"She has breast cancer." Sonny bit her lip in a final attempt to stop her tears, but it didn't work very well. She blinked, and one by one, tears streamed down her perfect cheeks.

"Oh, Sonny . . .," was all I could choke out. I held my arm out wide. She leaned forward and into me, letting go of herself.

I felt tears soak through my shirt. I didn't care. Sonny was there, sobbing into my shoulder. All I could to was lightly rub her back and whisper into her ear.

"Shhh . . . Sonny . . . I promise everything is going to be alright."

After a minute, I started to hum the tune to "Three Little Birds" by Bob Marley, and I softly sung.

"_Don't worry 'bout a thing, 'cause every little thing gonna be all right. . . . Rise up this mornin' . . . smiled with the risin' sun. Three little birds . . . pitch by my doorstep singin' sweet songs of melodies pure and true, sayin', 'This is my message to you-ou-ou . . .'"_

I kept singing until her body had stopped shaking, until I could no longer feel hot tears continue to soak through my shirt.

Sonny sniffed and lifted herself up from my shoulder. She gave me a small, but sad smile. "Thank you, Chad."

"You're welcome. And, um, call me anytime you need to talk or a shoulder to cry on. As long as that shoulder isn't covered with an expensive shirt." I gave her a quick smile, trying to back up my arrogant humor.

She accepted it with another small and sad smile. She whispered, "Fine."

"Fine."

"Good."

"Good."

I smiled and turned for the door. As I reached for the handle, I heard her add: "So we're good?"

A wide grin crossed my face. I looked over my shoulder and said, "We're so good." And I left.

**So . . . I'm not sure this first one was all that great. Oh well. **


	2. Freedom

**A/N: So this is slightly better than the last, and it's actually quite relevant to the last. So . . . enjoy! **

Freedom was the sound of Ms. Bitterman saying, "Class dismissed." Freedom was rushing out of the room with my classmates, making plans to celebrate. Freedom was not having to be in that room with that horrible woman for another few minutes.

Freedom was what we felt when we got out for summer break.

Freedom was not, however, learning that my friend back in Wisconsin had breast cancer. After I'd gotten the call, I'd said my stomach didn't feel well. When my cast mates left, I'd retreated into my room and dropped onto the chair. Tears were streaming down my cheeks before I'd even closed the door.

Now I was clutching the pillow of the chair, just heaving my heart out. No matter how loud I cried, it couldn't drown out thoughts like '_She's going to die.'_ I embraced the thoughts, in hopes that the pain would go away faster.

After a few minutes, my shaking finally subsided. I was able to clear my head while I'd sobbed, so at that point it was easy to calm down. Once my breathing was normal and my snuffy nose had cleared, I stared lethargically into the distance. There wasn't a single thought. There was just me and cheeks that felt tight when I tried to move them.

Then _he_ strolled in and ruined every bit of progress I'd just made.

"Hey Munroe," he said loudly. I didn't bother to turn my head to see him. "I heard the other Randoms talking about a sketch in the commissary, and I thought I'd just come here to gloat about how much funnier I am than all of you, and I'm on a _real_ show."

"Chad, I really don't want to talk right now," I said softly, my voice cracking in the middle of the sentence. My throat tightened and I felt tears coming back. I sniffed and raised my hand to quickly wipe the tears away.

I didn't want to put up with his arrogance right now. Normally, one of our little spats would be great for getting any bad emotions out, but I felt too horrible. Besides, even if I had started a spat, it would've turned into a real fight. I would've said things I don't mean—really hurtful things. People would've gotten hurt and no one would've been any better off.

I heard Chad heave a sigh and close the door. Then he came over to where I was sitting and sat down on the chair, right near the legs that I was cradling.

"Sonny . . . is something wrong?" he asked in that sweet voice that showed he actually cared. Which was a little of a surprise.

I bit my lip. If I talked and heard my voice crack, I'd break down again. I shook my head, letting out a little whimper.

"So nothing's wrong?" His beautiful blue eyes were piercing mine. His eyebrows were raised in such a cute way. I couldn't hold out on talking much longer.

I shook my head again and looked away.

"So you're in the fetal position on a chair, ready to cry, and nothing's wrong?" Chad asked pointedly.

I looked at him. Through my blurring vision, I swear I saw pain crawl across his face. I briefly wondered if he was hurting because I was hurting. I quickly shook the thought away. I could worry about it later.

Then, talking in a trembling voice to a blur of colors, I said, "One of my friends back in Wisconsin called today."

He nodded, patiently waiting.

"She has breast cancer." I bit my lip in a final attempt to stop my tears, but it didn't work. I blinked, and suddenly my cheeks became the bed of a stream of tears.

"Oh, Sonny . . .," Chad said, expressing a flicker of pain in his voice. He held his arms out wide, offering a hug. A shoulder to cry on. I took the invitation and collapsed onto his shoulder.

As I sobbed, I was silently sorry for staining his nice shirt with tears and my running makeup. All the while, he was being so sweet, lightly rubbing my back and whispering into my ear.

"Shhh . . . Sonny . . . I promise everything is going to be alright."

After a few minutes of my relentless whimpering, he started to hum the tune to "Three Little Birds" by Marley. He began to softly sing.

"_Don't worry 'bout a thing, 'cause every little thing gonna be all right. . . . Rise up this mornin' . . . smiled with the risin' sun. Three little birds . . . pitch by my doorstep singin' sweet songs of melodies pure and true, sayin', 'This is my message to you-ou-ou . . .'"_

He sung the lyrics over and over until my tremors and sobs let up and eventually stopped.

I sniffed and lifted my head from his shoulder. I gave him a sad smile. My voice came out weak: "Thank you, Chad."

"You're welcome. And, um, call me anytime you need to talk or a shoulder to cry on. As long as that shoulder isn't covered with an expensive shirt." He gave me a quick smile, signaling that his arrogance was just meant to be a joke.

I accepted the arrogant humor with another sad smile and whispered, "Fine."

"Fine." His voice was so soft.

"Good."

"Good."

Somehow, our usual angry spat had turned into something a little more gentle and sweet. It made my chest feel warm.

He grinned and turned for the door. As he reached for the handle, I asked, "So we're good?"

He looked over his shoulder with a wider grin than before and said, "We're so good." And he left.

I sat, smiling at the door.

Freedom was knowing you had that one person who you could tell anything. Freedom was having someone that would gladly offer their shoulder for you to cry on.

My freedom was Chad.


	3. Afraid

**A/N: Wow, three chapters in three days. Anyways, I'm going out of town for a week, so this might be the last post for a while. Unless I end up posting something before I leave town. **

**

* * *

**

Chad awoke in a cold sweat. His nostrils flared as he realized his heart was racing. His head swiveled as he frantically looked around his dark room. Then he saw it: the bright red numbers that read _2:41 AM._ He reached over and fumbled for his phone on the nightstand, knocking other things over in the process. Finally, he managed to grab it.

Frantically, Chad hit speed dial and put the phone to his ear. It rung once. He sighed with relief; her phone was on. He closed his eyes as the phone run. Images flicked by: her cold, lifeless body; the growing pool of dark blood; the absence of life in those brown eyes he loved so much . . .

The line picked up.

". . . Chad?" A weary, quiet voice spoke into the other end.

"Sonny." Air rushed out of his lungs with relief. "Oh, thank God."

"Chad, it's . . . like, three in the morning," she complained. "What are you doing up? And . . . why're you calling?"

"Sorry, I just had to make sure you were alive." As he spoke, Chad realized just what he was saying and became increasingly embarrassed. "I, uh, had this nightmare. You were dead. In it. In the nightmare."

"Uh-huh," she yawned. "Sounds great, Chad."

"I mean, there was like, blood _everywhere_." He was backpedaling, trying to justify himself. "And this really creepy guy did it and . . ." He shook his head. "I guess I was just afraid it was real."

"Well, it wasn't." Sonny sounded a little more conscious now. "I'm right here, Chad. I'm not going anywhere."

"Yeah. Well." He cleared his throat. "Well, goodnight Sonny."

"'Night, Chad."

She hung up, but Chad stayed on the line.

". . . I love you," he muttered.

* * *

**Wow, that was short. I wrote it during my lunch break. And . . . yeah, this sort of ended up sad. Sad-ish. Oh well. **


End file.
